


Lay Down Your Armour

by rainbowflavouredfabulous



Category: Victoria (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fix-It, M/M, Resurrect Your Gays, Spoilers for 2x08 - The Luxury of Conscience, The butterfly effect, Victorian Homosexuality, canon material i don’t know her, did you know all gays are immortal sorry i don’t make the rules, let’s pretend that episode didn’t happen whatsoever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-16
Updated: 2017-10-16
Packaged: 2019-01-18 01:47:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12378345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainbowflavouredfabulous/pseuds/rainbowflavouredfabulous
Summary: The Butterfly Effect is an odd one. So many futures dependent on just one little detail.In one future, Daniel M'Naghten doesn’t acquire the bullets he needs so desperately, on the belief that the Tories in his native city compelled him to go ahead with the shootings, convinced that they followed, persecuted him wherever he went, entirely destroying his peace of mind.In another, the debate over the Corn Laws repeal is pushed back another day, emotions still running high and not even the Speaker of the House of Commons, Viscount Eversley able to bring order to the men who comprise the Parliament Prince Albert admires so much.In a third, Drummond leaves the House early, his presence only truly missed by Sir Robert Peel, himself wishing he could leave Westminster like his private secretary does when he mutters some excuse or another in the Prime Minister’s ear.In all these futures, something very different happens from what you and I know but it is the third one that matters most.





	Lay Down Your Armour

**Author's Note:**

> So I cried for about ten minutes after the end of the season finale, got pissed off about how Edward and Alfred were treated and decided to write this. There goes my regular sleeping pattern (and thank God I don’t have any lectures tomorrow bc I’m so tired)
> 
> Title from [”Two Men in Love” by The Irrepressibles](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=px42qZcCeRU)
> 
> Unbetaed bc it’s like 3am and my beta deserves sleep so apologies for any mistakes, pls do tell me

The Butterfly Effect is an odd one. So many futures dependent on just one little detail.

In one future, Daniel M'Naghten doesn’t acquire the bullets he needs so desperately, on the belief that the Tories in his native city compelled him to go ahead with the shootings, convinced that they followed, persecuted him wherever he went, entirely destroying his peace of mind.

In another, the debate over the Corn Laws repeal is pushed back another day, emotions still running high and not even the Speaker of the House of Commons, Viscount Eversley able to bring order to the men who comprise the Parliament Prince Albert admires so much.

In a third, Drummond leaves the House early, his presence only truly missed by Sir Robert Peel, himself wishing he could leave Westminster like his private secretary does when he mutters some excuse or another in the Prime Minister’s ear.

In all these futures, something very different happens from what you and I know but it is the third one that matters most.

 

* * *

 

 

_“Drummond,_

_I have been thinking about our interrupted dinner - whether it could be revived. I understand I have no right to determine your future but it would be a shame if you never tasted the oysters at Ciros. I will be there this evening._

_Yours, Alfred.”_

Drummond leaves the House early before the vote, his presence only truly missed by Sir Robert Peel, himself wishing he could leave Westminster like his private secretary does when he mutters some excuse or another in the Prime Minister’s ear.

He encounters a crowd after striding through the corridors of the heart of British politics, his heart beating in a staccato rhythm whenever he remembers the letter in his breast pocket, the ink so tenderly imprinted from Alfred’s hand, but the gaggle of men seems to be mostly comprised of Tory sympathisers, his face fortunately not recognised by the men in top hats not as fine as his.

He calls for his carriage and by grace of God or some other deity, the streets of London are remarkably quiet in the early evening light, a sharp chill in the air that makes him shiver until he thinks of his destination and a strong warmth washes over him. Even with the speed the carriage makes, he still wishes it could move faster, seconds dragging out like millennia and when it finally stops at Ciros, he eagerly bounds out of the carriage, nearly forgetting his top hat, losing his gentlemanly ways in such eager haste.

It’s like a repeated memory - he’s escorted into the dining room with high ceilings and bright candles and there he is, sitting at their table like not too long ago, before he ruined it all, Alfred staring into the distance where small statues stand solemnly in their classical elegance. Like muscle memory, Alfred turns around and he looks up with such hope in his glimmering eyes, Drummond’s heart soars into the heavens. Even being in public like this could be enough to raise suspicion but this time he finds he does not care, lightly dragging his fingers over Alfred’s hand resting on the table rather than merely touching him on the shoulder. Drummond sits, champagne already waiting on the table like Alfred needed the strength to be here again. Alfred watches his movements with wide eyes, waiting until they are as alone as they can be in a room full of strangers and Drummond rests his own arm so that he can run his fingers on the raised veins in Alfred’s wrist, a teasing pattern he doesn’t stop when he murmurs like a prayer,

“ _Alfred_.”

And Alfred repeats with the sanctity and reverence of an “ _amen_ ” repeated in a stained-glass windowed church with God Almighty and his angels looking down on them,

“ _Edward_.”

The waiters move in with plates of oysters and the two move a respectable distance from each other whilst the plates are placed before them. Of course, Drummond can’t help but joke, “I hope these oysters are worth the wait.”

The adoration is clear when Alfred breathes, “it’s worth it,” but his eyes stay fixed to Drummond’s face.

Back at Westminster, Peel rues the day Drummond could leave him so easily, when he wins the battle but not the war, the repeal passing but Peel can only escape unscathed for so long - his time is coming up.

 

* * *

 

After they share a bottle of champagne and Drummond finds out he actually finds oysters an acquired taste - Alfred teases him relentlessly about it - they find it difficult to leave each other once the bill is settled and they are back out onto the street, and if they were truly respectable, they would tip their top hats and bid one another good night. A passerby could imagine they were business partners after a successful dinner but walk closer to them and they’d see wandering eyes following lips. Alfred sways just a bit too much and Drummond’s hands hold him by his waist as he attempts to maintain some distance between the two men, wary of how quickly rumour and gossip circulates in London.

In a moment of weakness or honesty, Drummond can’t distinguish the two anymore, he whispers, “I don’t ever want this night to end.”

The stars twinkle above them in the night sky when Alfred responds, “it doesn’t have to. My home isn’t far from here,” and it seem both have become susceptible to weakness (or honesty) when Alfred reaches for Drummond’s hand and neither let go, the lack of lamps along the rode working in favour of the two shadows merging together into one as they walk together to 42 Grosvenor Place.

 

* * *

 

They reach Alfred’s London residence not much later and Drummond’s scrunched creases into his trousers from curling his hand into a fist every time he wants to pull Alfred into an alleyway and kiss him but he deserves better than a dark alleyway. He deserves the world and Drummond’s impressed with himself that he doesn’t push Alfred up against the front door immediately as the blond reaches into his jacket pockets for the key and Drummond watches this man with his long eyelashes, parted lips and careful fingers. The door swings open and the warm feeling surges within him again when the front door closes behind the two men. They are finally alone, away from the prying eyes of polite society, and he pushes forward to kiss Alfred but he moves back and Drummond stands stock still, not even a breath as his mind jumps to conclusions that this isn’t real, that he’s gone too far, that Alfred doesn’t want him-

“Not now,” Alfred comforts him and he finally breathes out again when Alfred rests his hand on Drummond’s jaw. “Not here at least.” Alfred nudges his head behind him where Drummond can hear the harsh words of servants’ drunk conversation from another room towards the back and he nods his head once, unable to look away from those blue eyes with pupils blown wide.

Alfred takes his hand again and leads him to the staircase where he stops on the first step, looking far more sober than he should be. He almost looks like a scared child, having been gifted with a wondrous present and fearing that it can easily being taken away as it was given. His throat bobs in the almost silence and Drummond stays where he is, for once the two men are the same height.

“Do you want this?” Alfred asks in a small voice and Drummond can’t bear it, the fear in his eyes that should be banished by any means necessary and he steps forward, nudging their noses together and simply breathing the same air.

“More than I’ve ever wanted anything on this Earth.”

They both let out stricken breathes and with shaking hands, Alfred leads Drummond to his bedroom, grateful that his drunken servants would sleep through anything without stirring.

The bedroom door finally closes behind them and Drummond lets go of what remaining restraint he had left and he and Alfred step forward at the same time, hands holding whatever flesh it can and tasting his lips again, with two memories forever imprinted in his mind - that shimmering Scottish loch and Alfred holding onto Drummond’s cravat and pulling him to fall onto the bed with him, the door firmly locked behind them.

 

* * *

 

When Drummond wakes the next morning, it’s to soft sunlight streaming in through the open curtains and to his head in Alfred’s lap and his fingers running through Drummond’s hair. In his sleepy mind, he wants to fall asleep again but the pleasant scritches are enough to make him shiver and sigh tiredly when Alfred talks to him in a gentle voice that Drummond wishes he could hear everyday.

“Miss Coke told me about David and Jonathan before our first dinner. How their love surpassed women. I was certain she knew something.”

“Would it be such a tragedy?” Drummond asked as he sat up, tracing a thumb over Alfred’s cheek, his eyes fluttering and humming contentedly.

“I wish it wasn’t.” Alfred said quickly, as if getting it out in one breath wouldn’t make it true. “I meant what I said before. You will be a successful politician. And you can’t do that when I am by your side. You deserve a wife who can stand by you when it will be you leading this country.”

Drummond sighs but smiles fondly. “Come here,” he suggests, pulling Alfred into his lap so that they face each other, the sheets draped across their shoulders. Alfred leans down to kiss him and it lasts as long as it takes for the two of them to smile at such a previously unforeseeable future.

“I’m not going to become a politician.”

It’s taken him since that fateful night at the restaurant to come to his senses, nights spent thinking of Alfred rather than dreaming of his fiancé. Alfred looks at him quizzically, ready to interrogate and so Drummond speaks first.

“I’ve had my time. I’ve served many great men. Canning, Goderich, Wellington, Peel. But I have done what I can for my party. Peel will fall eventually. The Tories are divided and no one knows what we stand for anymore. The writing’s on the wall, Alfred. I won’t be needing a wife”

Alfred’s eyes move over Drummond’s face in disbelief. “What... what will you do?”

Drummond pulls him in closer by the waist, Alfred’s face tucked in Drummond’s shoulder, his breath tickling. “I could always go back to the family business. Papa said I would always be welcome at the bank.”

Alfred leans up and traces Drummond’s bare collarbone reverently. “Is that what you really want?” It’s like he knows everything about Drummond with just a raised eyebrow, a meeting of the eyes, the words unspoken between them.

“I miss Scotland.” He puts it plainly and Alfred responds in turn.

“So we’ll go to Scotland.”

Drummond scoffs improbably and searches Alfred’s face for signs of deceit but like he always is, he says what he means. “I cannot make you leave London. What of your family, the Court, your party?”

Alfred moves even closer, touching foreheads. “If you asked me a year ago if I would move to a cold, damp country obsessed with morbid poetry and bagpipes, I’d say you were skilamalink. But now I can’t think of anything better. I suppose there’s potential in Scotland. Railways soon enough. I have enough to support both of us.”

“Or I could run the bank branch in Scotland. And of course such a venture into the railway will require financial backing.” Drummond grins, a plan coming together.

Alfred surges forward to kiss Drummond, his hands on the nape of the other man, Drummond holding Alfred at the small of his back. “We could leave. As soon as possible, we shan’t waste any more time.”

The glee becomes more apparent on both of their faces as it emerges that this isn’t some fantasy confined to Alfred’s bed but a reality and they kiss each other again and again until it feels like they are one person.

 

* * *

 

“Papa, I would like to rejoin the business.” Drummond tells his father, Charles, the next day. To say his father is surprised is an understatement.

“But the Prime Minister, your party!” He protests.

Drummond sits in the opposite chair and leans in as if he’s telling a secret. “Between you and I, Peel will leave soon. I’d much rather get out of there before it blows to Kingdom come. I imagine the Whigs will replace him soon,” he lies easily - at least it’s a half truth.

Charles drains the whiskey in his tumbler. “Those damned Whigs. At least you’ve got your wits about you. Of course you can come back, you’re a Drummond after all.”

“I actually have one request, Papa.” Charles simply nods and Drummond continues. “I’d like to open a branch in Scotland.”

His father merely looks at him for a few moments and Drummond tries his best not to squirm. Theoretically he did not need his father’s blessing but it would make it far easier.

“Fine. Much rather you in that Godforsaken land than me. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“I believe railways are soon to be an profitable venture there.”

Charles stands up, his son copying him. “And what of Florence?”

Drummond knows this part, having discussed it with Alfred. “She deserves better than a husband leaving for Scotland. I will break the engagement with your blessing.”

The blessing is given, almost the reverse of when he had to ask Florence’s father for her hand and soon enough he has an audience with his fiancée, gently breaking the news. She cries of course but when they part as amicable as possible, it feels like Atlas’ weight has been removed from his shoulders.

He can only hope that Alfred’s plans have gone as smoothly as his.

 

* * *

 

“Your Majesty, is it possible I could have a private discussion with you?” He asks and luckily the Queen is in a good mood, Isla entertaining her for the whole day.

“Of course, what is it, Lord Alfred?” She responds as they walk to her study and Alfred stands opposite her as she sits down, Vicky following her mother and climbing onto the sofa.

His hands are shaking but he and Drummond agreed that today would be the day they would cut ties to London.

“I wonder if I could be released from court.”

The smile on Victoria’s face drops just ever so slightly. “May I ask why?” She says whilst gesturing to another chair. Alfred drops into it gracefully and continues.

“I have decided to resign as the MP for Lichfield and to invest in more commercial interests. I think it would also be better that I am no longer a member of your court given where I hope to be soon.”

“And that is?”

“Scotland, ma’am.”

Victoria smiles brightly and bounces Vicky on her knee, brushing her hair back. “You too have fond memories of Scotland?”

“Very fond.” Alfred hopes that after all these years, Victoria will grant his request and God smiles on him when she gives her permission and bids him goodbye and good luck.

On his journey out of the palace, he comes across Wilhelmina in a corridor and she smiles at him knowingly. “I hope your David makes you happy.” In such a state of shock, Alfred doesn’t move when Wilhelmina steps forward to kiss him on the cheek and says her goodbyes.

He leaves Buckingham Palace with a weight off his shoulders.

 

* * *

 

A few days later, all of their belongings are packed up and ready to leave for Scotland - Alfred gives his Suffolk residence to one of his many siblings but keeps the London townhouse in case they ever come back; Drummond resigns from the party and even Peel can see it’s the best for him.

They take just one carriage between them and along such a extended journey, they find themselves quite alone, sitting far too close, holding hands far too long, talking of everything and nothing far too intensely. As the cities thin out and all either of them can see is swathes of forests, it becomes real that this is really happening - Alfred has left court and resigned from his seat in the Commons whilst Drummond has left his post that he’s known practically all his life.

They arrive in Scotland in the late evening and only find out in the morning after loving each other as they should that a Daniel M'Naghten shot at Robert Peel the day before. Drummond worries until word is sent that the Prime Minister is stable but everyone knows that this is the final nail in the coffin and that Peel’s fragile, radical ministry will fail in days. Alfred catches Drummond looking pensive, guilty even and takes his fidgeting hands into his own, holding them like precious jewels.

“It could have been you. And then where would we be, hm?”

They find two townhouses on the same street for reasonable enough but eventually Drummond comes to accept that for all the nights he spends at Alfred’s residence, it really isn’t good economics to pay for another house that serves as glorified storage. Alfred only keeps a few servants, a cook, a housekeeper and a valet and Drummond finds something warm inside him to see Alfred walking around his, no, _their_ , home, knowing that it is his bed that they share.

At the end of a long day, when Alfred comes home from finding fellow railways enthusiasts and Drummond finishes his day at the bank, they eat together, drink together and fall into the same bed together.

They nudge noses like they did on the heavenly evening and part lips like a silent prayer just for them.

When Drummond first met Alfred, he did not know what he saw in his blue eyes.

Tonight though, when they murmur, “I love you” after blowing out the candles, Drummond realises he found grace in Alfred’s eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> “To find grace in his eyes” is a line used to refer to David and Jonathan in the Bible. I will freely admit that I’m a terrible Catholic and I never actually knew this was a line but it was too perfect
> 
> I’m on [Tumblr!](%E2%80%9Clostlibraryofalex.tumblr.com)


End file.
